


Quiet Hopes & Quiet Places

by IcedAcidPopsicle



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcedAcidPopsicle/pseuds/IcedAcidPopsicle
Summary: If Midas had a golden touch then Shuri touches light into things and people, and he wonders if that now includes him. But is he really capable of light and warmth, the voice in the dark of his mind whispers. All he’ll ever know is ice cold metal.





	1. Chapter 1

There’s a quiet strength in her, Bucky notices as he watches her skipping stones on the water. She is in cotton shorts and woven sandals in the hot, heavy heat of Wakanda summers. He sits by her long legs, fiddling with a pebble of his own as he contemplates quietly. He feels it now, this whisper of intensity in her, rippling through his senses like the stone she skips on the lake’s surface – 3 skips till the pebble sinks. An ellipses, starting strong and trailing off in hints, not unlike this strange effect he has come to know from her.

Maybe she didn’t have T’Challa’s regal firmness or Okoye’s intimidating presence but Bucky feels it anyway, and it affects everyone and everything she touches. If Midas had a golden touch then Shuri touches light into things and people, and he wonders if that now includes him. _But is he really capable of light and warmth_ , the voice in the dark of his mind whispers. _All he’ll ever know is ice cold metal_. And then he is heavily reminded of the absence and the weightlessness on his left side. He skips his stone – 5 skips.

Shuri groans beside him in defeat and he laughs as she plops beside him. Her sandals come off and she sighs when she starts wading her ankles in the water.

“What are you thinking about, Bucky,” she says, leaning back on her elbows on the grass, eyes closed and head tilted back to bask in the sun. His eyes linger down the line of her throat before he tears his gaze back to the water, skips another stone and watches until the pebble sinks under the water, his thoughts about her neck with it.

“Who says I’m thinking about anything, _Princess_.” He smiles, a laugh on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t have to turn to see her peek at him through one eye at his deliberately snarky comment. Being best friends with a genius princess with a sassy mouth on her for 2 years would have that kind of effect on you.

She huffs her amusement behind him. “Look at you picking up after me, _Sergeant Barnes_. Guess there’s not much else this master can teach her grasshopper.”

He laughs, hand sweeping through his hair as he shifts to face her. “I’m ok, _Shuri_.” She eyes him quietly through a side eye that would have made Okoye proud. “Just thinking is all.”

She gets up, ankles wet against the grass, and sits behind him starting to braid. “Bullshit,” she murmurs at his chuckling shoulders. “You keeping secrets from me now, Buck?”

He doesn’t answer but he smiles – a little too tired and a little too broken – as her fingers rake through his hair. He promptly changes the topic to his chores and he could feel her prickle at his dodging her questions but he’s grateful that she doesn’t press him. She knows that he’ll tell her when he’s ready. He chalks up her stubbornness to that silent resolution of hers. She doesn’t speak for a while, smoothing strands of his hair as she works, but then he makes a wrong pop culture reference and he can hear her throw her head back laughing.

As the afternoon advances and the chill of evening creeps slowly, he quips that it was time he maybe got a haircut. She tugs at his hair and he yelps, indignation over his face as he faces her over his shoulder. She laughs at his face, breathless and shaking all over, hands still mid-braid. “I like it long,” she says. “It’s gotten so soft since you came to us.”

He feels that odd spike in her energy again when she finishes with his hair (half up and half down with a few braids so that his face is free of loose strands) and she moves to his front, beaming prettily at her handiwork.

“There,” she says, tucking one last loose strand behind his ear, and when he sees infinity in her dark brown eyes and in that easy smile, he feels something inside take hold.

It takes him a long while to notice, after he escorts her back to her car and she’s left him to return to the palace, that the strange pattering somewhere between his ribs has not stopped.


	2. Chapter 2

It is a almost month until they meet again, this time in her lab up in the Great Mound. _White Wolf_ , the security at the entrance call him. Bucky smiles at them, and forms half an X as a courtesy to their greeting. He’s been in Wakanda for almost 4 years now, but the greeting still feels awkward to him – _still too much like a foreigner; too much of an outsider_ – no matter how it’s been more of a home to him than Brooklyn had ever been. Inevitably, as he is wont to do recently, his thoughts wander to a dark skinned neck, arched towards the afternoon sky, long lashes over dark eyes and long braided tresses pooling over grass and sun-kissed shoulders.

He gulps down the underlying dread that came with these thoughts and focuses once more on that whisper at the back of his head. _As if._

_As if. As if. As if._

He sighs, jaw tightly clenched and steeling himself, before he enters Shuri’s lab.

T’challa says that Shuri had succeeded in extracting the trigger words and their destructive consequential effects on him, but that was only part of the problem. Shuri still had to sift through his memories for recollections that can provoke similar reactions like the trigger words, despite the fact that they had been successfully eradicated from his system. And so he continues seeing her.

There were other times, over the years since he woke up, that Bucky would visit her in the Great Mound to keep her company. He doesn’t ever touch anything, far too intimidated by her should, God forbid, something break while he was around. He’s content enough to watch her work – it was enough to watch her eyes alight in concentration as she made upgrades to T’challa’s suit (or that cybernetic arm she’s secretly working on. She never was a very good liar).

Sometimes they test out her new inventions and he has been privy to her little pranks. “How does T’challa ever work with you?” he groaned once, getting up from the floor and massaging his sore shoulder while she cackled her evil little laugh from the other side of the lab. There were tears in her eyes when she slid her chair to where he sat on the floor and he could not find it in himself to berate her. Not even when she mimicked the sound he made when he fell over.

“With great difficulty,” she had said, her laughter still at the edges of her lips as she motions her kimoyo beads towards him. He couldn’t help but chuckle with her then as newfound laughter took over her when she showed him T’Challa getting pummeled by the kinetic energy of his own suit.

Bucky allows himself a small grin at the memory, megawatt smiles and contagious laughter in his mind, as he makes his way through the labyrinth of lighted white and blue. This is Shuri’s favorite place on earth – a fitting palace of her own.

He finds her fiddling with her sonic panther gloves, back turned to him. He frowns at the slight tension on her shoulders. Guilt prickles at the back of his neck; if he had visited some time since that afternoon, he could’ve maybe convinced her to rest every now and then. Not that Shuri had a tendency to listen to anybody who tells her to rest, stubborn as she is especially when it comes to her work, but at least she’d know that people cared. That he cared.

“You’ve not been sleeping again, have you?” he chides softly, behind her. She jumps with a gasp, soldering gun falling out off her fingers and he snickers at her reaction.

“One day,” she stammers, looking left and right and under the table for the solder. “I swear to _Bast_ , I’m going to make a compilation of all your fail videos and upload them on Youtube!”

He laughs, picking up the solder and handing it to her. He ignores the sudden tightness in his chest at her flustered face and the rising blush on her cheeks. “You didn’t answer me, Shuri.”

She has the courtesy to look a tiny bit guilty as she puts away the soldering gun. “Well, you’ve not been around to boss me into sleeping so much lately,” she teases, lips curved upwards and razor sharp in her shade. _Ouch_. It’s his turn to look guilty, and she shrugs dramatically before leading him to another part of her lab. “So I thought I could finish as much as I could, before you busted me anyway.”

There it is again, that light and silent intensity in the teasing lilt of her voice and the mischief in her eyes. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling even if he wanted to. This sassy princess who’s somehow managed to become his best friend. When he nudges her softly on the shoulder as they make their way to the ante chamber – and she nudges back, warmth in her laugh – he swallows the creeping dread if only to ease the rattle in his bones and that tightness in his chest.

 _He should know better_ , that voice says.

_As if._

And then the air shifts when they reach the ante chamber; a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the borders of Wakanda, and a table in the middle. Suddenly Shuri is silent and is not laughing anymore and Bucky catches the weight of a passing sigh. He observes her with a worried frown, from his seat on the table as she her kimoyo beads turn on monitors and the holographic interphase that map his brain paints her pretty face in blue light.

When she is close enough, he reaches out to touch her arm, and as if breaking out of a trance, her gaze shifts to his fingers before it slips to meet his eyes. Dark eyes, rife with worry, searching his for something he doesn’t know.

“What’s wrong?”

He sees her swallow her worries before she tears her eyes away from him and back to the interphase at the head of the table. Her jaw clenches and her shoulders are rigid with tension. She takes hold of his hand, sighs a heavy sigh, and meets his gaze once more.

“It’s going to be a difficult session,” she says, sounding so small in her anxiousness.

He understands. Breathing deeply – a little strained but resolute – he nods and offers her a smile. Something reassuring, even if just a little bit; something to let her know that whatever happens, he’ll be ok because she’s there with him.

“Shuri, look at me,” he says, tilting her face to look at him. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it.” She is still but he feels her fingers tighten around his. “I’m not alone anymore, remember?”

She smiles a little at that – _finally_ – and she nods. “Damn right you’re not.”

She moves towards her monitors and the blue flashing interphases and he lays down on the table. They begin their session and he tries to hold on to the traces of the warmth she left between her fingers before he is put under. The last thing his brain registers is her presence slipping into his conscience as she starts weaving through the darkest corners of his mind.

* * *

.

 _He is unstable. Erratic_.

.

_You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time._

.

_But I knew him._

.

_Prep him. Wipe him and start over._

.

_You’re my friend._

.

_You’re my mission._

.

_We only have to talk about one._

.

_**Freight car.** _

.

 

.

_Mission Report. December 16, 1991._

.

* * *

Bucky wakes up to the muffled sound of crying. In a heartbeat, he is upright on the table, finding her and calling out for her as his world spins. His brain is fuzzy and disoriented and there is an accelerating drip of panic in his throat and she is crying and all he can think about are triggers and the possibility – _the fucking possibility_ – that he had snapped once again and that he’s somehow _hurt her and_ – _God please_ – _he’d rather die than lose her_ –

And then there is the quiet feeling of her fingers on his face and the feeling of her forehead pushing against his. Soft and silent and warm – _so warm_ – that he considers falling at that very moment. The storm under his skin calms down and the white noise in his ears and chest is replaced by the quiet of the chamber and the tearful whimpers she’s trying so hard to contain.

A different kind of panic slowly starts to settle because she was so close – _so close, so close_ – that it would be so easy for him to lose himself in this tender fortitude of hers. She could make it so easy for him to love her.

The thundering clamor of his heart is all but deafening as she weeps and holds him close to her. His one hand hovers awkwardly around her frame – just close enough to hold her, should she permit it and just enough space for him to back away if she didn’t.

"Shuri," he whispers. With a loud whimper, her arms circle around his neck as she sobs her misery with her face buried under his neck. Jaw clenched together tightly, he dares to hold her then, pulling her closer to him with the same ferocity. His fingers find purchase at the braids right on her neck and his nose buries into her shoulder while sirens and distress signals screamed through his thoughts.

_Too much too much too close._

_You are not allowed this luxury._

_What could she want with you, you broken old man?_

Her arms pull him even closer and all he can sense is her, her, her. She is so small and she fit between his shoulders – _and his heart_ – so perfectly.

“I’m going to fix you, Bucky,” she finally whispers into his ear, voice watery and spent. “They will no longer take from you.”

_Ah._

He understands now, in crystal clarity, the reason for her sudden pain and tears. Interlaced in her soft, exhausted voice was her scorching fury and a fierceness he had only until then identified as T’challa’s.

“I will not allow it.”

He blinks and closes his eyes, his nose still buried in the crook of her shoulder, still holding her close. He sighs deeply into her and his world is quiet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST OF ALL.
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT AND FOR GIVING THIS FIC A CHANCE ❤❤❤ all of you are so sweet and i am so grateful for your support.
> 
> 2ndly.
> 
> Idk about this chapter guhhh. I might eventually write Shuri's pov of these events haha.
> 
> The blank under freight car was left intentionally because y'all know what he says.


	3. Chapter 3

It doesn’t even take the super soldier in him to notice that something heavy has poisoned the wind that blows over his cabin. The goats he kept in their fenced pen bleat anxiously, only further contributing to the trickling feeling of dread and unease in his gut. Hauling hay over his good shoulder, Bucky continues working away the distant alarms that ring dully in his head, the grayness of the horizon not leaving the corners of his eyes.

He is not surprised when, halfway through his chores (and mentally taking note to double-knot the ropes in the goats’ pen), he sees T’Challa, Okoye and a few other guards in tow, walk up to him carrying a dark case.

He notes Shuri’s absence when they present him with the intricately beautiful arm of dark vibranium and gold.

\-----  
  
He finds Shuri, hours and hours later, sitting by the lake, ankles in the water, reminiscent to an afternoon where everything in his world started turning again. Under the midnight stars and moonlight, she is iridescent and he feels his breath catch the moment he sees her. He doesn’t need to ask why she was here; Steve’s call and the news he bears has everyone on edge. For what could be the twentieth time since he had gotten it, he clenches and unclenches his metal fingers – still unaccustomed to the considerable weightlessness and the smoothness of the vibranium – as he sits beside her.

She doesn’t look at him, tired eyes still fixed on the reflections of the moon on the water, but her fingers find his anyway. She is so warm in his good hand but he wonders if he could still feel that warmth beneath the cold metal of gold and vibranium.

“It suits you,” she says quietly, finally turning to him, smile-ready and hiding the weight of tomorrow. He squeezes her hand, smiling sadly; he knows she does not want this for him. As if understanding his gaze, her smile drops and she looks away. She sighs, sad and heavy. But there is steel in her jaw, her shoulders and a silent fury emanates from her skin and Bucky is so proud of her then.

The world could end tomorrow and she is every bit the fighter her brother is. Every bit as ruthless and a fortitude in her own goddamn right. _Not so fragile_ , he thinks of his princess. _Nothing fragile about her at all._

When he meets Steve tomorrow and when the battle will rage on – _as it always does_ – he will have her light and her strength to guide him. He balls his vibranium arm into a fist and is reminded of all that she has given.

“Thank you, Shuri,” he says quietly in the darkness.

What he doesn’t account for is the anger in her eyes, blazing brightly, and the growl on her lips when she whips her head to look at him.

“Keep your gratitude. I don’t want it!”

She all but yells, tearing her hand away from his.

“Don’t thank me for sending you back into the fucking war.”

She gets up, braids and beads dancing over her shoulder and back in her rage and paces furiously, hands on either side of her forehead. He says nothing but waits attentively; it is rare for her to get frustrated when she can easily find solutions to her predicaments, but the stakes tomorrow are higher than any they have ever encountered and this time, she could not find any other way to keep the people and the city she loves safe. She has only one solution, and it is only just now he realizes the brunt of the weight on her shoulders: tomorrow’s outcome depends on the Stone with Vision and if she can separate it and him long enough for the Sokovian witch to destroy it.

She sits back on the bank a little farther from him with a huff beyond exasperation, ankles once again in the water and knees pressed to her chest. There is an ache in his chest to hold her, but he knows she needs the space to think.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” she finally says, seeming so small. “But you shouldn’t have to fight tomorrow.”

There is no break in her voice and he smiles despite the gravity of a universe threatened; planets could crash and empires could burn tomorrow and she is stubborn enough not to shed a tear – _but she’s cried for him and for the atrocities of his past and he wonders if he is really worth any of  her tears at all._

“Look,” he says, moving to where she sat. He tilts her chin towards him with the arm she’s given him. “If it meant that I could protect our home…”

She scowls then, eyes shifting to the side in her hurt. If his fingers weren’t on her chin, she would have looked away. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs.

“...That I could protect everything you loved,” he whispers, smiling as her gaze – wide-eyed and stunned – snaps back to focus on his. His fingers linger against her cheek before eventually dropping to take her own hands in his.

_If it meant that I could keep you safe._

“It’ll be the easiest choice I will ever make.”

She sighs and stares down at his hands over hers for such a long while that he wonders if he had overstepped his boundaries. But Shuri’s fingers entwine themselves through his and he finds the quickening pulse under the skin of her wrist that his heart can’t help but match. They are edging onto the precipice of something that had been happening for a while now and through the loud beating of his heart, he wonders which of them will be the first to tip over the edge.

The moment he thinks that, Shuri lifts her gaze towards him and her dark eyes are alight and piercing through him as she bites her lower lip in, a drip of anxiety in the tension of her shoulders .

“Is that really all you fight for?” she asks, leaning towards him. He finds himself unable to look away from the intensity of her eyes under long lashes. He swallows the anxiety rising through his pounding heartbeat.

“No,” he says, into the quiet of the night, straight and true. The corners of her mouth twitch up so slightly as she continues to find her way into his space.

She is so close now and it won’t take a great action to close the distance between them and steal a kiss from his princess.  
  
“What game are you playing at, Shuri?”

He could breathe in the scent of the honey and vanilla on her skin and hair. Pain tugged at his chest to the rhythm of the erratic hammering of his heart.

“I’m not playing, Bucky,” she whispers, the thrum of her own pulse rising under the skin of her wrist.

In the blackness of midnight, there is starlight in her eyes and the way she looks at him – _searching and longing_ – hold such power over him that everything else fades away from view. There is only Shuri, her light and love, the flush on her cheeks, and the thunderous beat of her heart under his fingertips.

He couldn’t. He _shouldn’t_ be entertaining this. She has her whole life ahead of her and even if they survive tomorrow, what then? The last thing he wanted for her is to hold her back from the greatness she could – _would_ – become. Shuri does not need anymore baggage, especially not coming from someone as damaged as he was. Not after everything she’s done for him.

But she was so close now, hovering before him with that _something_ in the depths of her dark eyes. Something that looks a lot like hope. The thought that maybe, _maybe_ , she wanted him the way he craves for her terrifies him but, in the grand scheme of things, this momentary lapse of terror is nothing but futile; he gravitates towards her anyway, heart beat raging in his ears, like a willing moth drawn to flame. And when Shuri’s eyes dart between his eyes and his lips, frantic and wanting, Bucky feels the last tethers of his sanity crumble away until there is only the desperation for the love of his princess.

Shuri shivers the moment he dares to caress her cheeks, the coolness of his vibranium arm and the warmth of his human arm trailing goosebumps all the way to her neck. How he had yearned to touch her like this with both his hands – to encompass her in the simple truth of his feelings while his brain still struggled to find the words.

He watches the flutter of long lashes as she presses herself in the palm of his hand, eyes closed, and draws his breath away in her sigh. He is never this lucky, so he wonders just how long had she wanted this – wanted _him_ ?

“Bucky…,” she whispers – _quietly, hopefully_ – and that is all it takes for him to unravel.

He steals the whimper in her voice the moment his lips find hers, fingers curling behind her neck and pressing her flush against him. She reciprocates him just as fiercely and as urgently, pulling him by the collar of his shirt. When she presses herself even deeper into him, her lips part wide enough for his tongue, and she drinks him in like a thunderstorm blessing the end of Wakandan summer heat.

Her arms circle around his neck and his hand travel down her back and her sides, pulling broken gasps from her chest that only feels _right_ . She moves to settle on his lap, and the feel – _the privilege_ – of being between her legs, kissing her into oblivion, sends him into an overdrive like never before. He breaks away from her with a growl, carnal and raw, only so that his lips could finally find her beautiful _fucking_ neck.

“ _Bucky…_ ,” she gasps, fingers pulling at his hair almost painfully. He sucks the flesh where her neck meets her shoulder, all teeth and tongue, that she arches against him. She cries out his name with every roll of her hips against his, tilting her neck just right as his lips continues to trace the hollow of her throat. It is only when she shudders sharply that he stills completely and only then realizing just how far he’s gone: he has pulled down her collar and bra-strap far enough to expose one dark-skinned shoulder, while his vibranium hand had drifted dangerously up under her short skirt – _he could register the softness of her inner thigh through his fingers that white heat erupts into his very core at the thought of his fingers touching even higher_ . Suddenly the storm raging in his heart and skin is far too _loud_ , as waves upon waves of red flags shoot into his brain, telling him to _slow the fuck down_ .

With a deep inhale and a slow, torturous exhale, he pulls away from her neck, takes his vibranium arm from under her skirt, and leans onto her shoulder to calm down. He hears her laugh and can almost feel her roll her eyes  at him, before her fingers pull him back into her with a crash of her lips on his once more.

 _You’ll break her!_ The dark in his head screeches, shrill and deafening. _Whatever is going to happen, wherever this is going, you’ll break her!_ _  
_

He moves his tongue against hers, slowly, relishing the sweetness that is her and the moans he elicits from her with every kiss. His hand finds the dip in her waist and when she pushes further into his touch, a rush of heat courses through his veins at how perfectly she fit between his arms.

 _It’s the only thing you’re good at._ _  
_

Her fingers slide down his neck and find themselves just above his heart. When she bites his lower lips and her thighs tighten around his hips, he groans, low and guttural, into her throat and pulls her all the more closer.

_You’ll  break her so easily._

A heartbeat second of doubt tugs at his chest and he almost pulls away – _almost stops this_ – but Shuri kisses him like the sun searing into his bones. It is in the heat of her skin, in every secret whimper, and in the slip of her tongue overtaking his senses that the dark in his head is drowned out completely. Tonight, he listens to the beat of their hearts pressed close and the sighs and softness of his princess.

 _She is strong because she hopes,_  his heart stutters.

_She is indestructible because she loves._

When the kisses eventually slow, and they do, he leans into her, foreheads touching, dizzy and breathless. She is flushed, but beaming, smiling at him like he’s worth a damn, and she is all the more beautiful for it. He presses her close still, hand on her jaw and neck while she graces his face with light, butterfly kisses. Her fingers are tantalizingly buried in his hair again that he sighs into her the corner below her jaw.

“Shuri…,” he starts, a little brokenly, heart hurting and nervous – it is time she knew. Tomorrow will inevitably come and she has to know before they are swept into the threat of death in the horizon. He lifts his head to look at her. “Shuri, listen.”

He gulps, hands finding her wrists. Her dark eyes hold the stars in the sky and is infinite in their depths when he dares to gaze into them. The smile on her face slowly fades into worry and really, there is nothing he wants more than to keep them in this feeling of bliss they have made for themselves. But there might not be time left to grasp tomorrow.

“What is it?”

When he doesn’t answer right away, her fingers reach for his face, his eyes drifting closed in their security and warmth. He focuses on the feel of them for a minute, breathing into them before pressing his lips onto the pulse on her wrist.

Her forehead touches his again, and he breathes her in, her closeness giving him courage – giving him hope. He lets his heart speak for the first time in decades and he is almost surprised at how quiet it all is.

“I’m falling for—”

She kisses him then – soft, sweet, and just as overpowering – and steals the rest of what he has to say.

“I know,” she says, lashes fluttering open and gaze latching into his. “I am too…”

Her fingers are on his lips before he has a chance to react – _there is no mistake, however, in the sudden swell of warmth that blooms rapidly  from his chest and fills into every dark corner of his being._

“But don’t tell me now,” she finishes, the fingers on his lips slipping under his jaw, her thumb stroking the stubble on his cheek.

The sliver of laughter at the corners of her lips is all but obvious, no doubt because of the look of confusion probably etched in the slight frown on his face. She laughs anyway, thin arms circling his neck, making his heart jolt electric against his ribs. What he’d give to hear her laugh that way for always.

“Tell me when we’ve won,” she says into his ear. “Tell me when you’ve come back to me.”

Tomorrow is fast approaching in every passing second and destruction and ruin looms just outside the their borders. But there is hope and right here, right now, there is respite for the hopeful.

He pulls away from her arms to kiss her fully, deeply and with all the love she deserves.

“Okay,” he says into the flesh under her jaw that has her squealing with laughter, his chest and heart full and bursting with her and a newer – _brighter_ – prospect of tomorrow.

_Tomorrow._

When the dust finally settles and victory is theirs, he’ll tell her he is in love with her tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urppppp i had a bit of trouble with this so IDEK. Uploading this before I hate it enough to not uplaod it at all T.T
> 
> Thank you as always for the sweet and lovely comments!! I love you all!! ❤❤❤❤❤

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd contribute something for the WinterPrincess fandom ❤ this is just a drabble i needed to get off my chest. If you're on tumblr, i'm icedacidpopsicle


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